


Part Two

by xladysaya



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Falling In Love, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Sports injuries, ex pro player ushijima, they're both fools in their own ways
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2019-10-29 20:21:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17814890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xladysaya/pseuds/xladysaya
Summary: For Ushijima, the concept of retirement seemed far off, years and years in the future. However, with a life altering knee injury, he has no choice but to readjust to a different life in a different place.As hard as it seems, his new neighbor keeps him on his toes, and he begins to think his life has barely just begun.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WOO I FINALLY GET TO WRITE USHIOI!!! I've come to really love this pairing, and I've been trying to include them in more and more fics as side pairs! buuuut I really wanted to try writing them as a focus, so I'm happy I get to finally post this lmao pls be kind, I've never written these two and it's been a minute since I've written any Oikawa ship *sweats* I hope you all enjoy tho!
> 
> Special thanks to [EmeraldWaves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldWaves/pseuds/EmeraldWaves) for reading this over!

They've tried to make it look nice, and for the most part, they've succeeded.

The empty house spread out before him is remarkable, the result of his parents' and managers' efforts to find and furnish the perfect home for him. Ushijima breathes in deep as he steps onto the polished floor, his key still hanging from the lock; it doesn't even squeak, doesn't bend under his presence at all.

It's quiet, the wind rushing through the open doors and bringing in the smell of pure spring. It's almost too perfect, reminiscent of the country he grew up in, but a reminder of all he's achieved.

Never in a million years would he have thought he could live in such a magnificent house.

And still, it underwhelms him.

He looks down, finding his dull expression staring back as the sun filters in from the double doors behind him. The need to retreat is sudden and sharp, but he squishes it like the nerves before a volleyball serve, and stays put.

This is home now, and he'll have to get used to it. Luckily, the rest of the house is wood flooring, dark and comfortable.

Still, Ushijima, in a rare show of fear, turns to look back at the open doors. An escape, lined with too many rose bushes.

He could leave, if he wanted to, but he won't.

The driveway is vacant but clear in preparation for the moving truck arriving at noon. It sweeps wide, extending down the small hill. Too much for one car if you asked him, but at least his father and mother can visit often.

Ushijima is two hours early, not uncommon, but this time there's a reason he hadn't been able to admit. Ushijima's father insisted he wait for the movers to do all the work. After all, they paid the big bucks. Yes, all his furniture, his bed, and heavy bookcases would be unloaded neatly and efficiently, ready for his arrival.

But something about that made Ushijima abnormally upset. A lot of things did, lately, and he wonders if his diminishing easy temperament is a result of age.

He's only twenty-eight, so he knows it's something else.

Ushijima sighs; yeah, he needs the alone time. He needs to see the skeleton of the house first, to take it in, devoid of all furniture and personalization.

It needs to sink into him more fully, though he can't believe it. He's never been someone afraid of adapting. It's what he's known for on the court, only shadowed by his stable skills, the way everyone could depend on him to spike...

Still standing in the same place, Ushijima's face scrunches up, and he ventures further into the house. The dark wood creaks under his weight, the tiny chandeliers and light fixtures welcoming him happily. The kitchen is grander than he needs, no doubt his mother's request. He's never been one for eating or craving fancy foods, but he does remember the moments as a child, helping his parents cook dinner.

He likes the kitchen, he decides; with its white cabinets and granite island. It'll do. Wistful, he slides his hand over the fresh, new countertops. That emotion...he doubts it's the last he'll feel of it, but he's not quite ready to embrace it head on.

He moves down the hall, into the bedrooms. Per his request, he takes the smallest one. Even the smallest bedroom is large in comparison to his old city apartment though. But he doesn't have nearly enough things to fill up the real master; it had been a logical decision, nothing more. Besides, it's the closest room to the backyard, a place he knows he'll find himself more and more as the years go on.

Looking at the room now, he thinks he might've done himself a disservice.

The entire house too, feels like a trap.

Despite its grandeur, the space and luxury, the quaint town at the bottom of the hill....

Ushijima sinks against the floor, contemplating. The room before him will soon be filled with memories of his achievements; medals, trophies, certificates.

A reminder of the thoughts he's been ignoring ever since he landed the wrong way on the court, curling in on himself as the whistle blew.

This is the reason, he realizes, the reason he wanted to come alone at first. He can't bear to have other people see him in this state, to see them come to the same conclusion he is.

The empty house is remarkable, and will surely be even more so, filled with plush couches and gleaming sports awards. Despite  _all_  this, it doesn't feel like anything more than a retirement home, because that's precisely what it is.

Ushijima is  _retired_.

As he thinks it, he stiffens.

The air blowing from outside stops as does the faint sounds of nature through the plastered walls.

Yes, this is the problem, and has been the problem all along. Ushijima both wants to confront it head on and push it off into oblivion.

To move past it while also willing it to be a dream.

It's a strange thing to cope with; the end of his career. He's never been afraid of reality, and some things simply just happen. Yet...

Yet. He can't help but view this house as a coffin, a place to live out the rest of his days in relative peace until he becomes part of the dirt the rose bushes sprout from. Interned here, until the memory of his feet on the volleyball court are nothing.

How is he dealing with that realization? He doesn't know.

Concerns so heavy have never been a part of his life, and it unsettles him in ways he's unfamiliar with. To embrace or to reject....

How would he do either? He's not a crier, he doesn't usually lash out. He won't yell or sit here like a statue, gathering dust because he's too sad to move.

He'll live his life, he'll get to know this house and the new town, because that's simply what life has told him to do.

But he also won't get back on the court, he won't vent with spikes or receives.

The weight of that is new, and not something he will likely be used to in weeks, or even months' time.

To embrace or reject...

As he moves to stand, his knee gives a protest in the form of pain shooting through it, and he remembers he doesn't have a say in the matter at all.

\--

He does his stretches inside, where no one can see. For some reason, he's not quite ready for that yet. Not because of the shame, but because he's still not sure he's safe from the reporters even all the way out here.

It's been a few weeks since he's recovered from his injury, but news of his retirement won't be made public for at least another two. No one should be looking for him here.

When he's done, he ventures back outside to wait on the driveway, debating on whether or not he should try to eat something. He's not sure he's prepared for social interaction quite yet, nor is he ready to start mapping out a routine in such a new place.

For now, the air is warm and the breeze cool, hitting his cheeks as he looks out beyond his home. He lives in a small development, most of them vacation homes. He likely won't see his neighbors for months out of every year. Truly, there's no need to rush into acquainting himself with things.

He'll have to, soon, but he wills himself to not put pressure where it doesn't need to be. At the thought, he shifts some weight off his bad knee, glancing towards the sidewalk to find a movement of shadows on the pavement. 

Ushijima's eyes snap up at the movement of the house which shares the picket fence of his own, and in an instant, he finds scalding brown ones boring into his soul.

Standing there is a young man, probably around Ushijima's age, beanie wrapped stylishly around his head as his eyes try to burn through the lens of his glasses. Brown locks slip out of the beanie, framing his face and high cheekbones. He's much better dressed for the climate than Ushijima, with a black t-shirt and skinny jeans to keep him him the perfect blend of warm and cool under the fresh spring sky.

In his hands is a single flower pot, carrying the beginnings of a rose bush. Ah, maybe this is the culprit, the one littering the community with the flowers.

The man takes a deep breath at Ushijima's staring, shifting his weight, and it's only from this movement that Ushijima notes he favors his right foot.

For some reason, it makes Ushijima step forward, and his neighbor notably stiffens, taut like he's been wound up like a chord, and Ushijima freezes.

He doesn't flinch at anything, it's not in his nature, but there is something unnaturally intense about this man's eyes. Skeptical and unimpressed, but shocked enough to be rendered still, his body unmoving. As if he can't believe Ushijima is actually standing there in front of him.

Maybe he's a fan, or knows him from television. Ushijima hopes not, but even still he wants to make a good impression.

As best he can anyways, though he never understood why it mattered. In most cases, people who don't like him just leave, and he never sees them again. It seems silly, to force niceness between people who clearly don't care for one another.

But well, this is his neighbor. There's some incentive for Ushijima to be welcoming, despite the glare he's now receiving from the man across from him.

As cut off from the world as Ushijima can sometimes be, even he knows this isn't standard procedure.

Okay, Ushijima thinks, steadying himself. In the back of his head, he hears his dad reminding him to be polite, a hint for him to act in  _some_  way.

So alright, it's time to meet his neighbors after all. He can adapt to this swiftly and smartly.

With the same awkwardness that never escaped him, even after years of college and international appearances, Ushijima raises his hand in a small wave. "Hi."

In an instant, the brunet drops the flower pot in his hands, letting it shatter comically against the pavement of his driveway before he himself is sprinting inside his house and slamming the door.

Well, okay then. 

Ushijima watches the door for any sign of movement, and swears he sees the blinds move and tiny eyes peek out at him, but otherwise he stays put. He looks at the remains of the flower pot, the moist soil standing the ground and getting picked up by the wind. He might not really see the point of gardening, but he at least knows a waste when he sees one.

He hopes the neighbor will come to pick it back up.

Already though, Ushijima is resigned to the fact he'll probably never see this neighbor either, for reasons he doesn't understand or care to.

He glances back towards the door one more time, remembering the power behind those deep brown eyes, and does his best to not think about him again.

They never even got to exchange names.

A loud horn interrupts his musings, and Ushijima glances down the street, the large moving truck taking up much of the narrow community street.

Ah, they're early, he realizes, and from then on Ushijima is thrown into a non-chaotic whirlwind, a fight to settle down and enjoy an unexciting life.

\--

It's actually not as hard as he would've thought.

Out of the three grocery stores in town, he finds the one he likes best. It's got a bakery next door, and everyday he picks up fresh bread and some cakes for when his parents come to visit.

He hits the gym in the morning, does yoga on the back deck of his home in the afternoon, and drops off his library books in the evening. The librarian likes him enough, since he doesn't cause problems, and Ushijima begins to slowly enjoy conversing with him after finishing each of his books.

Tsukishima Kei reads a lot, and isn't afraid to fight Ushijima's old-fashioned, 'hardass' opinions. Or, that's what he calls them. It gives Ushijima a hobby, something to look forward to other than mindless television shows or the bi-weekly parental visit.

He tears through every horror novel, every fantasy and science fiction rec Tsukishima has up his sleeve.

The comfort of the routine doesn't end there.

Tendou, a trainer at the gym, is exuberant enough to hype Ushijima up, to make him work harder. It makes Ushijima feel like he's still tough, still strong, able to move mountains even as his knee trembles. The redhead paces him well and offers a good mix of over the top praise and patient advice.

His eyes are never devoid of fire, and it keeps the dimming one in Ushijima's alive.

On top of it all, neither of his two new companions feel the need to bring up Ushijima's pro-history, which he didn't know he would one day appreciate.

The baggers and clerks at the store know his name, and he knows theirs. He allows himself to be dragged to the occasional barbecue and high school volleyball game.

It doesn't hurt, not too much.

Some nights are harder than others though. He wakes up in pain

Or sometimes, he can't sleep at all.

The shine of his medals and trophies blind him even in the darkness, and the blanket of regret settles over him. His career is over.

It's more comfortable to say now, after weeks of adjustment, but it still stumps him.

His father wouldn't want him to waste the rest of his life, and he isn't. He can remember how happy his father looked, seeing Ushijima so adjusted and healthy.

Ushijima won't let him down, but he also can't escape the reality that this isn't what he'd wanted to do with his life. If he could go back, he would.

Something will always be missing, and he's accepted it. When he looks at the beautiful, unpolluted sunset from his deck, when he walks through the roses, he'll remember it.

And he'll roll out of bed, and live a good life. He'll have a good day, because there are no other options.

And despite it all, good days or bad, he finds himself glancing at his neighbor's door every day as he passes by. Ushijima begins to theorize, and he blames his imagination on the books Tsukishima routinely forces on him. Maybe his neighbor is recluse, or harboring a dirty secret.

Maybe he's a government witness, kept safe here in the middle of nowhere.

It makes Ushijima actually laugh at himself, a sound he hasn't heard from his lips in quite a long time. For that alone, he thanks the neighbor, knowing he may never see him again.

\--

Except, he does.

Ushijima's muscles strain as he makes his way up the hill of his driveway, a small challenge he's thankful for. The tiny sense of relief he feels at seeing the marooned colored front doors is new, but growing each and every time he leaves the house.

Home.

It's starting to be just that, little by little, but the rose bushes are still foreign, the trophy room untouched. He's not quite ready to remember those moments fondly, whatever that might mean.

The universe is on his side enough to provide distractions. As Ushijima reaches the fence around his small front yard, he hears something heavy fall to the floor.

The sound echoes off the empty street, stirring up the loose soil of his neighbor's newest plants, and calls his attention in an instant.

He hears a quiet curse, muffled with pain, and looks towards his neighbor's house with what's certainly unwelcome curiosity.

Yes, surely, whatever is in that box is broken now. It lies, well taped but lopsided as his neighbor winces, his face even less kind than last time.

Those deep brown are closed, opening only to blink back any weakness stubbornly. There's sweat dripping down the side of his foreheads, pasting his bangs against flushed porcelain skin, and Ushijima wonders why the other feels the need to hide so much on his own property.

Though, Ushijima confesses he's the same, unwilling to show how fragile he really is to any prying eyes.

A spike of sympathy goes through him, and to his own shock, he takes a step forward.

At least this time, Ushijima isn't the cause of his neighbor's slip-up. In fact, the man doesn't seem to notice him at all as he grips another box from his truck bed, pausing in regretful agony as he raises his leg up.

Ushijima feels the phantom shot of pain in his own knee almost immediately.

The other clearly overworked himself; it's hard to remember one's limits, and with the resentment glowing in those brown eyes, Ushijima wonders if the other man even acknowledges he has them in the first place.

But surely, he must. For if not, the man would still be crawling, desperate to finish his task.

Ushijima's footsteps are stupidly quiet against the crisp grass, like he's afraid of scaring off a wounded animal, but his voice tumbles out on its own. He can't control it, and his eyes widen the exact moment his neighbor's do.

"I can help," Ushijima says, and before he can stop himself, his hands are on another box. He catches the name on the shipping label, and finally he can put a name to such a sour face.

_Oikawa Tooru._

It's fitting, he thinks.

Oikawa looks like he's seen a ghost; like there's no way Ushijima is actually on his property, touching his stuff, and having the gall to talk to him on top of it all. Those vibrant eyes narrow, beady and over dramatic, leg still raised slightly from the pain.

Ushijima doesn't back down; he pulls the box closer to his chest, refusing to let go. It's rude probably, especially with how Oikawa is trying to obviously decide whether to cut and run again.

He can't though, he can't risk the injury.

Ushijima only feels a  _little_  pleased. The smile must slip, a realization which surprises him about as much as it infuriates Oikawa.

The brunet snaps to attention, thrust back into the reality of his life as he tilts his head up. Ushjima is still taller, but he imagines Oikawa could make less confident men run with their tail between their legs, no matter the height.

"No thanks," he sniffs, defiantly picking up the ruined box from before. His face contorts, ever so slightly, from the sudden movement, but he keeps it as neutral as possible. "I'm perfectly fine."

Ushijima's brow furrows, seriously doubting that. Even still, he watches as Oikawa struggles to grab the last box in the truck before hobbling towards his open front door.

Dutifully, Ushijima follows, box in his hand. As he watches Oikawa's back muscles flex in front of him, making sure to keep his distance so the other has room to limp, Ushijima wonders what makes the brunet so standoffish.

He's hardly ever home when Ushijima is, which means he must be out in town the same amount. His clothes are stylish, trendier than Ushijima could ever achieve even if he did try, and judging from the mail he's getting, he has friends and family. His house is well kept, vibrant, alive with a bustling garden and cheesy signs from the local homestore.

If the 'best garden' awards still existed, Oikawa seems like the type to rigorously compete.

So naturally, as he watches Oikawa grumble to himself and fuss with the door, Ushijima reaches the natural conclusion.

"Did I do something?" he asks, as straightforward as he can manage. Fortunately, it's the only way he's ever been able to speak.

It usually just gets him awkward silence, half-assed laughs, or blank stares, so he's used to it. What he's not used to is the flair with which Oikawa spins around on one foot, a whirlwind.

His eyes might as well be as red as his face now. He drops the initially dropped box, but doesn't seem bothered, stuck on Ushijima's blank, blinking face.

"Oh, of course not!" Oikawa gasps, eyes wide and all kinds of fake. Maybe Oikawa is an actor, though not a gifted one. "You're Ushijima Wakatoshi, you never do  _anything_  wrong!"

For the first time, Ushijima flinches.

"You know me?" It's not a smart question, he realizes as soon as Oikawa's sneer grows. Ushijima is, or was, a famous volleyball player for the national team. To most of the world, he still is. Just because people in town have been too polite to say anything, doesn't mean they don't know.

And in Oikawa's case, he's not afraid to bring it up.

The brunet laughs, rolling his eyes, and Ushijima follows the movement involuntarily. What is it about Oikawa which makes him so curious?

"Who  _doesn't_? But don't worry, I'm not a crazy fan," Oikawa says, stepping inside his house. Unlike Ushijima's entryway, it's carpeted, and old paw prints can be seen, stained into the plush fabric. Cats. Another thing about Oikawa with claws. As Ushijima thinks it, Oikawa turns his nose up again, glancing over his shoulder. "I'm not a fan at all, actually."

Oh.

Well...it's a relief. Ushijima isn't fazed as he sets down the box on the nearest table, taking in the faint scents of honey and vanilla candles. Oikawa's house has the theme of plants, perhaps even more so than his yard. Little potted ones sit on every ledge, with turquoise and mint green accents against the grey walls.

It's...calm, overwhelmingly so, an interesting contrast to the booming voice of the owner.

With his hands now free, Ushijima puts them to his side, facing Oikawa smug, expectant face.

Ushijima nods. "Okay."

Oikawa obviously doesn't hear him.

"And if you ask me, you're overrated!"

"Mm."

"And creepy," Oikawa continues, his hands coming out to count off each and every offense. "I can't stand your speeches."

 _Me neither_. He doesn't remember half of the press appearances he has to attend. He always wanted to play volleyball, and only play volleyball.

That fact, and not Oikawa's insults, make his shoulders slump.

Oikawa huffs, hands on his hips. He's still breathing heavy from the workout, and he leans down as he mutters, pulling up his pant leg. Sitting on his knee is a simple white brace, matching the one on Ushijima's own. Ushijima feels the sudden need to scratch at his, under his purple sweats.

"There's no escape I guess," Oikawa sighs, gesturing to Ushijima rudely. It's true, they're neighbors now, but Ushijima never thought they had to be friends. Something about Oikawa just pulls him here, and Ushijima's pride is different. He doesn't feel the need to avoid encounters for the sake of saving face. No, his pride come in the form of competition, of wanting to win.

It's something he can't do anymore.

Oikawa arches a brow as Ushijima stands there, silent, and in a singular moment he learns Oikawa is a chatterbox. He can't stand the quiet. His shoulders tense, his eyes scan, trying to pull  _something_  from someone he claims to hate.

Eventually, his patience runs out.

"Hey, did you not  _hear_  me?" Oikawa huffs, throwing up his hands. His weight is still on his good leg.

And for whatever reason, Ushijima sort of respects him for that.

"I did, every word," he finally says, as blunt and factual as ever. "You don't like me."

Oikawa blinks, his mouth dropping open to babble uselessly, and even Ushijima can tell what he's thinking in this case.  _'That's right smart ass.'_

That's not how Ushijima means it though, but how would Oikawa know anything about that? All he has is interviews, scenarios Ushijima could never get the hang of.

At a loss, Oikawa looks at the boxes, then back at Ushijima, then does another round for certainty's sake. The fire in his eyes is extinguished to hopelessness, or maybe a fear he's lost his touch. "So...why are you helping?"

It's a good question. Ushijima doesn't really know, or he at least doesn't want to say.

Somehow, the idea of telling Oikawa it looked like he needed help has red flags around it. Even Ushijima knows the brunet won't take it well, even after ten minutes of interaction. Looking at the boxes, Ushijima finds his voice, and is weirdly thankful he was able to help.

Oikawa shouldn't have done all this alone, though Ushijima is sure he does a lot that way.

"I don't have much else to do." Ushijima shrugs, and despite Oikawa's returning anger, he's happy with his choice. Much better, and honestly true.

Ushijima would rather be lambasted than sit in his house alone, unable to do much but stretch out an injury which he'd be stuck with forever.

"Right, Ushijima has it so easy, he gets to retire early and live a life of luxury," Oikawa bites back, and something in Ushijima tightens. It's not his muscles this time. "Dumb idea if you ask me."

Yes, dumb. He's in the prime of his life, after all.

He doesn't expect the jab to strike such a chord but it does; human emotions are funny, his father often says. Ushijima should really take the time to appreciate them more, no matter how terrible they can be.

He feels his skin heat up and his heart thud, aggressive in his chest, and his face feels pinched all of a sudden. Pulled too tight, trying to hold things in he hasn't even begun to address yet.

He uncurls his fist, which had grown tense at his sides, and nods to himself. "I agree."

Oikawa laughs again, ready to unleash a tirade, when he actually processes the words. His cutting stare softens, blinking, and the arms crossed over his chest fall. "Yeah well--wait, what?"

Indeed.

Ushijima doesn't really get it either, he just knows he would've done anything to not end up here this early.

He hopes he doesn't look too kicked, but he wouldn't know. He doesn't think he's ever felt this way before.

Picking up the two boxes on the floor so Oikawa doesn't have to, he sets them down on the table, and gives himself permission to confess to a stranger. Out of everyone, at least Oikawa will care the least. "I said I agree. I didn't want to quit, I wish I didn't have to."

The words sit heavy on his tongue, almost foreign, and he grimaces at the bitter taste. Oikawa is still staring, the picture of elegant ignorance.

It's the first time he's shared a weakness aloud, whether to the wind or a therapist. Oikawa is neither, but obviously, Oikawa is someone who might understand.

Without saying much else, Ushijima lifts his pant leg, revealing a large white brace, and Oikawa's expressions is struck by lightning.

He's not trying to make a point, or even communicate their similarity. He just wants someone to see, and to know what his life has become.

"I should be going," Ushijima says finally, bowing respectfully. Oikawa doesn't move an inch. With one last, innocent glance around Oikawa's home, Ushijima turns toward the door, hellbent on making sure this life of his doesn't drown him in sorrow. "You have a very lovely house, Oikawa-san." 

And he means it, he really does.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! And sooner than I thought lol like I said, this is pretty much my yolo fic but at the same time, I'm having a great experience writing it! I didn't think I'd love Ushijima's pov so much (and I second guess myself sometimes) but it's more refreshing than anything else! I'm excited to explore more of his character ffff, and I hope you all enjoy this small update! <3
> 
> Thanks to [EmeraldWaves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldWaves/pseuds/EmeraldWaves) for reading this over!

It had only been forty-five minutes, but eventually he feels it. The sharp, needle-fine pain shoots through his leg as he takes another long stride down the track. The gravel scuffs against his expensive running shoes, one of his last gifts from an old sponsor, and Ushijima is whisked back into reality once more.

He can't help but pant as he comes to a stop, and as difficult to swallow as it is, he shifts his weight to his good foot. Being too prideful is never good for anyone, or that's what Tsukishima had told him.

Ushijima wonders if the protagonist from the novel they'd been discussing has ever been in this specific situation though.

He's pushed himself too hard again. Ushijima groans as he moves steadily, the sweat dripping down his forehead as he pulls away from the track.

Tendou's footsteps follow him easily.

The redhead's sincere gaze doesn't upset him, but Ushijima wishes the other would make at least some attempt to hide it. Tendou always looks so surprised when Ushijima has to stop in the middle of their workouts, like he forgets Ushijima has an injury at all.

_Ushijima_  sometimes forgets it.

It's not a disappointed look though; it's not the face of someone who's realizing how washed up an ex-volleyball star is. It's just...there. Like Tendou realizes how deeply frustrating it is for Ushijima to deal with.

How if Ushijima could, he'd run and run until his soles ached.

Tendou's silent opinions aren't judgement, they're simply an echo of the respect he has for Ushijima. An acknowledgement of what he's lost.

Even when Ushijima can't cope with those feelings himself...

It's nice to have someone there who can help if he needs it. Tendou only assists when asked, but he stays close by, already starting his cool down stretches.

Hobbling on one foot to the nearby bench, Ushijima keeps his face as stony as possible. He doesn't like to show pain, not for his own sake, but he finds people worry far too much about him.

Grabbing some ice from the cooler they'd brought along with them, Ushijima ices his knee. The relief is instantaneous, the icy droplets soothing the heated skin until the stinging pain turns dull. It's a routine he's slowly getting used to.

He might not be able to push his limits like before, but he does enough to keep in shape.

Ushijima allows himself to smile as he eyes his legs, still strong and capable.

Yes, things are moving along just fine. It's something he knows he has to tell himself often to really understand, but the extra assistance from those around him never fails to help.

"You did well today! How is it that I still can't keep up with you even when you're hurt? It's not fair!" Tendou whines, stomping his foot against the soft ground. It's the usual response, too loud and self-centered. However, Ushijima is beginning to realize everything Tendou does is a performance, one that serves a purpose. In this case, he thinks the other might just be trying to cheer him up...

Maybe.

The redhead pulls at his eyes and hair as if there's no hope for him, and it never fails to make Ushijima smile. Performance or not, it does pull his thoughts away from less constructive things.

"Hey quit smiling! I'm serious," Tendou pouts, though there's a wild amusement there that never seems to die. Even after an intense workout, Tendou is full of boundless energy. No wonder he schedules so many one on ones. "My other students are going to think I'm washed up, as  _if_..."

With a dramatic huff, Tendou sags to the dirty floor, and Ushijima doesn't bother reminding him how many dogs have probably done their business down there.

Somehow, lying like that, Tendou's hair looks even messier; a splatter of paint against the ground.

"Even if they think that, there are no other trainers at the gym," Ushijima says, and it's a fact, so he's sure it's helpful. "They have no choice but to use you."

Tendou's jaw falls open, and perhaps Ushijima's predictions were off once again.

"Shot through the heart..." Tendou sings weakly, rolling towards Ushijima as he stretches out his bad knee. The looks on his face is as offended as it is pained. "How could you  _say_  that?"

Well, it wasn't very hard to do.

Ushijima just blinks. "I don't understand."

"Ah...course not."

Something both sardonic and fond flashes in Tendou's eyes, and they let the silence settle back over them easily. This is one thing Ushijima likes about living out in the country.

There's lots of space to run, and the gym they frequent is spacious enough to have a large track for the local cross-country teams. When Ushijima and Tendou come at the right time, it's empty, save for some older people walking their dogs along the gravelly path. The wind provides the perfect after workout chill, the sun bright but not overbearing. It shines in his eyes, warming his skin, and when he breathes, the smog of the city no longer kisses his lungs.

It's a perfect day. Ushijima is not quite used to those yet.

As the birds flit around above them, Ushijima fixes his knee brace, and the plain white color evokes the image of alluring, judgmental brown eyes.

Ushijima pauses, eyes wide as he stares at it.

Oh right, that's his only other issue at the moment. For whatever reason, he can't stop thinking about his neighbor.

Maybe it had been his shocked face during their last encounter, or the character of his home, but the brunet seems to follow Ushijima everywhere. The grocery store, the library...

Luckily, if Tsukishima had noticed Ushijima's distractedness, he didn't care much.

Given his relationship to the brunet, Ushijima wonders if he has a right to be this perplexed by him.

It's been a few days since he's seen Oikawa outside, or caught his beady eyes peeking through his window blinds, like Ushijima is some suspected serial killer.

It's odd. It's not like they ever talked much, but not seeing Oikawa or any evidence of him is confusing to say the least.

The brunet doesn't seem like someone who's ever hid from anything in his entire life.

Maybe that got him into trouble. Ushijima thinks of the other's knee brace, a duller white, well-used. Oikawa's injury is not fresh, the way he moves and walks with caution and care is a testament to that. Oikawa has the fluidity and insight which Ushijima still craves, but he guesses everyone must progress with these things at their own pace.

Surely, someone as outspoken and stubborn as Oikawa didn't take the injury well when it first happened. Ushijima still isn't taking it well, and his family has hinted that he may never be truly okay with it.

And those feelings are okay.

If his fixation with Oikawa shifts some weight away from them though, he'll welcome it.

Ushijima's so lost in thought, he doesn't notice Tendou's face slowly inching towards the side of his own.

Unlike Tsukishima, the redhead has no problem calling him out.

"Di-stract-ED!" Tendou sings, more like hollers, and Ushijima actually does jump. A rare sight; in fact, Tendou gapes before thanking the sky for the token of good luck.

Ushijima is not amused.

"Hmmmm, by what though? What could possibly be going on in that head of yours?" Tendou makes a show of shifting his body in weird angles, as if looking at Ushijima from a different direction will give him the insight he desires. "All your brain thinks about is volleyball."

"That's not true," he says bluntly. Sometimes he thinks about books.

Or hashed beef rice, when he doesn't mess it up anyways...

He's hungry.

"Earth to Ushiwaka." Tendou is in front of him again, and Ushijima barely contains the urge to lurch back. How does the redhead get so close so silently? Tendou drops his voice down, even though they're pretty much the only ones out here. Ushijima appreciates it regardless. "Is it about your injury?"

"No," he says, a little too fast, but he's not one to lie. Tendou knows that, so the redhead just nods. There's no need for him to pry, but Ushijima knew he would've gladly listened to his confused thoughts on the matter. In truth, his injury, like volleyball, is always in the back of his mind. But it's not occupying the most space right now.

"Is it a girl?"

At that, Ushijima only scrunches his nose. He's never really thought about women...unless Tendou means the women's volleyball team. They are quite exceptional players.

"Uh...a boy?" Tendou tilts his head, and yes, Ushijima supposes. If only the insinuation of Tendou's words didn't fly completely over his head.

"I suppose," Ushijima sighs and nods solemnly. Then he fixes Tendou will a hard stare, ready to unleash his minuscule problem onto him. "My neighbor doesn't like me."

The sound of birds flying around them occupies the silence for a very long time. Very relaxing.

Though, it is strange for Tendou to take this big of a pause--

"Your...neighbor?" Tendou blinks, squinting like Ushijima is the most complex puzzle he's ever dared try to solve. At least he's taking it seriously.

"Yes."

What's so confusing?

Tendou squints harder, and Ushijima can barely see the bright color of his eyes anymore.

But he waits, because well, Tendou is all he has right now. Ushijima doesn't trust himself with social things, he knows he's no good with them.

Maybe he's not looking at things in the right way. Maybe he shouldn't be minding Oikawa at all.

The other obviously wants nothing to do with him.

"You don't seem like the type to care when people don't like you," Tendou says, still trailing Ushijima's every expression. Like an eagle with its prey.

That is true.

"I'm not, but Oikawa didn't necessarily say why he didn't like me." Hm. Perhaps that's what has Ushijima so confused. Of course he knows it has something to do with his volleyball career, but he can't apologize or improve if Oikawa isn't clear about it.

Oikawa obviously didn't know about his retirement, so it can't be that.

Tendou's beady eyes are wide in less than a second, by Ushijima's estimates.

"Oikawa...Oikawa Tooru? Like  _Oikawa_  Tooru?"

Ushijima purses his lips.

"Are there...multiple Oikawa Toorus?"

" _Dammit_  Ushiwaka!" Tendou jumps to his feet, pacing to the end of the concrete and back. "You didn't tell me he was your neighbor!"

Tendou, quite literally, sits on the floor and rolls. Or...he tries to. It's more like a flail.

Ushijima doesn't mind, but something inside him does prickle over the idea of finding out more about Oikawa. "Do you know him?"

Tendou flops, sighing. "He's the town mystery. Everyone knows him, but we also don't. He keeps to himself, weird for a pretty boy from the city but…" Tendou shrugs, finishing the thoughts.

From the city...

Ushijima remembers Oikawa's trendy clothes, his fast speech...

Tendou turns to him, quizzical. "Anyways, I'm surprised he talked to you. He mostly saves his energy for when his out of town friends and family visit, and BEFORE you say anything NO. I am not a stalker. It's just they're easy to spot...in their fancy cars, always taking pictures of the parks. It's a  _park_. I'm sure I'd see more interesting things in Tokyo."

Ushijima doesn't have the heart to say he quite admires the parks here too.

The city, as much as he misses life there sometimes, can get quite boring and overwhelming. It would be easy to view his new home as an escape for some people.

Oikawa's old injury flashes in his mind. Maybe he and Ushijima truly are in the same boat, seeking sanctuary. "How long has he lived here?"

"Eh, a couple years? He used to be one of the other gym trainers, but now he just runs the plant nursery at the edge of town."

Ah, well that explains all the flower pots and rose bushes.

Ushijima wonders if Oikawa couldn't handle the exercise anymore, or maybe he just couldn't handle thinking about his own knee. Ushijima would understand; sometimes it's a struggle to even sit here, watching people run and jog with ease, unaware of what they have.

He has Tendou to drag him out of that though, at least when his family isn't here.

Oikawa doesn't.

He can't imagine what that's like, as independent as Ushijima himself is. It's not a thing he ever thought he'd have to navigate, and he's still getting the hang of it.

He still can't go into his trophy room.

But Oikawa doesn't know any of that, he sees Ushijima the way Ushijima sees the runners. The way he saw life a few weeks ago. Upsetting, a reminder of things he no longer has. The brunet has no way of knowing about Ushijima's struggle to get through these troubling times, and it's not his job to care.

Yet, Ushijima admires him still.

Oikawa  _did_  get through this in his own way, and the urge to know more is something Ushijima has to crush like a soda can, trapping it deep in his mind.

As admirable as Oikawa is, Ushijima isn't going to pester, though the instinct is there. Oikawa greatly vexes him, and probably always will.

With that settled, Ushijima's respect for Oikawa grows, and he elects not to bother his neighbor if he can help it. The brunet has probably earned that solitude.

Tendou mistakenly takes Ushijima's silence as frustration, and the redhead pats his thigh with a shrug. The sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting a shadow over Tendou's face and Ushijima's knee. The end of the day looms, and the relief of going home is something Ushijima cherishes everyday. He never thought he'd get that far here.

Tendou's eyes close, and he sighs. "I wouldn't mind him too much, his mood probably has nothing to do with you."

Except it does. Ushijima knows it does.

\--

Of all the things Ushijima expects from a normal day, which is not much, it's definitely not opening the door to see Oikawa holding a basket of muffins.

His eyes fly to them, though the urge to study Oikawa's expression first is almost unstoppable.

The muffins themselves look pristine; they're in pink aluminum cups, and the basket is professionally tied with a larger than life bow. The muffins are dusted with some kind of icing and are about as big as Ushijima's palm.

They're what Tsukishima might call 'cutesy,' given he tends to throw the word around when they're dealing with more romantic plots. Surely, Ushijima can see this muffin basket belonging to one of those books.

However, they're a complete contrast to the person holding them.

Oikawa looks less than pleased to be standing on his stoop, exhausted too. Like he stayed up all night considering whether or not this scenario was worth it. There's a twitch to his right eye as he smiles ruefully, his hair is tousled and contained under another beanie. The color is different though. How many different ones does Oikawa have?

The smile, though not kind in the slightest, is also forced, like Oikawa is a child who was told to be on his best behavior. Instead it just ends up coming across as deranged, but Ushijima isn't analytical enough to suspect the muffins might be poisoned.

Ushijima really can't make  _any_  connection about what's going on, and he hopes Oikawa is willing to explain.

But the brunet just stays silent, peering at Ushijima. Is...is Ushijima supposed to say something first? He doesn't remember asking for muffins, unless it was an accident.

Ushijima blinks, and Oikawa's tight smile morphs into surprise. He hadn't been expecting Ushijima to do...whatever he just did. Nothing?

Either way, it gets Ushijima a response he thinks he enjoys from the usually quick-witted neighbor.

Oikawa stutters as he quite literally thrusts the basket into Ushijima's hands. "The-uh.... _These_  are... _apology_  muffins." The brunet holds his head high and proud, but the word 'apology' is spit, cursed in some way. At that, Ushijima's eyebrows shoot up.

Oh. Perhaps Oikawa thought Ushijima would take some kind of joy in his groveling, but in reality he's not even convinced this is really happening. Oikawa does not seem like the type to apologize, but maybe that's clear in how uncomfortable he looks.

Ushijima stares down at the muffins in his hand, fully perplexed. Regardless...he does feel something warm in his chest at the gesture; he never expected the apology, and doesn't necessarily think he deserves one. But to have Oikawa extend one anyways...Ushijima can't help but smile.

Across from him, he hears Oikawa sigh. Or...sigh is not a good word. It's more than the brunet expels every last ounce of breath from his lungs. Had he been holding it?

" _Finally_ , a reaction out of you," Oikawa mutters, fixing his glasses. "You're way too stiff. At one point, I thought you might be  _stuck_ with that serious look on your face."

Ushijima's smile grows, and something in Oikawa's eyes sparkle. Ushijima must be a very interesting specimen to see come out of hiding, like the flowers Oikawa adores so much.

He wonders how long Oikawa must've been actually observing him, if he knew him throughout his volleyball career. Somehow, that knowledge makes a small cluster of heat rise to his face.

He's never been intimidated by the spotlight, never cared for it at all. But the microscope that is Oikawa's gaze is quite different.

That face, natural and without scorn, is a little too overwhelming for Ushijima at first. He has to look away, and the tight feeling in his stomach isn't one he's used to.

He should see a doctor.

But for now, he looks back to the muffins, eyeing them with interest. He's never particularly had a sweet tooth, but a peace offering from Oikawa has his mind changing. "You made these...for me?"

"No, they're for me I just wanted to rub it in your face," Oikawa deadpans, and Ushijima blankly stares back. Another sigh. "Yes they're for you, but I didn't make them. I can't bake. Or cook. Or...boil water, but that's not important."

Oikawa's nose scrunches up cutely, like admitting anything weak about himself doesn't compute. He brushes his hair from his eyes and lowers himself; it must be natural to try and seem as tall as he can, more intimidating that way. Maybe it's another subtle way of apologizing for his previous comments. Ushijima doesn't need it, but he appreciates the effort.

It's another thing they have in common too; Ushijima has never been gifted in the kitchen. He has a few dishes he has down, and as a consequence, he eats the same things over and over. He's not picky; his life has always been about routine anyways, but lately he has been wanting to branch out. If only to kill time. As content as Ushijima grows in his new environment, he still has pockets of the day where nothing fills the hours. There's only so long he can read before his eyes dry out; he only ever enjoyed watching movies with others present. He can't overwork himself with exercise and yoga, and with no errands to run...

Things get tedious. Perhaps he'll buy a cookbook. He can lend it to Oikawa too.

"Thank you," he says, and it's sincere. For whatever reason, every encounter with Oikawa breathes a little bit of life into Ushijima, and he's okay with not understanding that. He won't question something which makes him happy, especially when it's hard to sometimes remember what that feels like. Ushijima smiles broader, though the realization hurts.

Oikawa's shoulders slump, and Ushijima wonders if he captures the glint of sadness in Ushijima's being. After all, he's sure Oikawa must've felt it too, in some way.

Again, he resists the urge to pry. He vaguely thinks his need to align his experience with Oikawa's, though they might be completely different, is evidence he's finally willing to reach out to others.

It's a heavy thing to consider, but with Oikawa fidgeting in front of him, it doesn't feel so alarming.

"You're welcome," Oikawa says with a cough; he looks down at the floor, unsure of where to go from here. Ushijima feels the same. Oikawa stares at the muffins, then back at his bad leg, reaching down to tug at his pant leg. In an instant, Ushijima understands what he's trying to say; it's rare. Ushijima never knows what people mean, but when Oikawa's eyes flit from his knee back to Ushijima's face, it's louder than a spike on the court. "I'm...uh..."

Oikawa closes his eyes tight, willing the apology out, but it's hard. Ushijima knows it is, and it's so endearing his grip on the basket puts the muffins in jeopardy.

"It's alright," he says, bluntly, with no room for an argument. The words carry on the wind outside and sit differently than usual; Ushijima can't help but think he might've been talking to himself as well.

_This_  is alright.

Oikawa's eyes widen, and he rises back up from where he's bent over, and the wrinkles of confusion dissipate. Oikawa's face is bright and innocent, not something Ushijima's seen before, and he follows the movements of Oikawa's lips when he mutters a singular "oh."

_Oh_  is right.

"Okay." Oikawa nods, and they agree it's done. From here on out, they'll move forward, and forget about the other things. Ushijima has been skeptical of fresh starts for the past few weeks, but this isn't so bad. In fact, it's the most refreshed he's felt in a while.

He does love parts of his new life, new routine, but nothing quite gives him this rush. Is it selfish of him to try and prolong it? To soak up as much as he can?

He doesn't know, he's never thought about it. But his family and his therapist say he needs more personal connections, and he thinks this is what they meant.

He and Oikawa could be friends, if Ushijima tried. If he wanted.

And he does  _want_ , and it's the most peculiar feeling in the world. He's only ever  _wanted_  to play volleyball.

Oikawa peers at him, so analytical. Ushijima will have to ask what he used to do in the sport of his choice. Surely he was good at it; Oikawa's eyes search Ushijima's with frustration and interest, trying to read him for something, anything. Ushijima hopes he can ask him what stares back someday.

As if being caught, Oikawa looks off to his side, rubbing his neck sheepishly. Sheepish is not a word Ushijima would give to Oikawa normally, but perhaps he feels as awkward as Ushijima does. It makes Ushijima's impulses easier to unleash. "Well...I'll just see you--"

"Would you like to go to dinner?" Ushijima says, and he's thankful it sounds normal, not rushed out or disjointed. He's never been the one to invite people to anything; he surrounds himself with extroverts, the type who drag him off whether he likes it or not. He's preferred that, but Oikawa makes him want to make the effort.

The brunet blinks, brown eyes wide, dark like molten lava. "Dinner? Now?"

"If you're not busy," Ushijima shrugs. He stares down at the muffins then. "We got off on the wrong foot, but truthfully, if I don't have anyone to go to dinner with I might just eat these muffins."

Oikawa's mouth forms a small, hesitant, 'o.' Ushijima has come to realize that when people make that face, it generally means they want more explanation.

"I'm not that much of a cook. If I don't have to I won't," he admits. If Oikawa is allowing himself to be weak, then so will Ushijima. "I guess I could make rice--"

"I think a toddler could make rice," Oikawa deadpans, and searches Ushijima for some kind of offense. When he finds none, it somehow makes his walls drop a little more. Although, Ushijima has a sneaking suspicion Oikawa won't quit until he can get another genuine reaction out of Ushijima.

After all, he's the one who complained so much about his stoic face and demeanor in interviews. But that can't possibly be the only source of Oikawa's dislike...

Even if it is in the past.

The thought of that sends a new rush through Ushijima. "Can you make rice?"

"That's....irrelevant," Oikawa huffs. Then his eyes trail up Ushijima's strong frame, and Ushijima isn't polite enough to not stare at the way Oikawa chews his bottom lip. "But I guess I can't let you starve, all your wild fans might come after me if they find out!"

Ushijima huffs a small laugh, and loves the way Oikawa fixates on it. "Thank you for the consideration."

The joke, probably the first Oikawa has ever heard him tell, has Oikawa fixing his glasses in a way Ushijima won't get tired of. It’s self-conscious; a terrible feeling, and one Ushijima feels entirely too much around the brunet.

It's good to know it's mutual.

Oikawa nods, the last of his skepticism dying on those smooth features, and again, it's like a breath of fresh, smog-free air. "So, what did you have in mind?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Comments are always appreciated! Originally I thought this fic would be fairly short, but now I'm not sure. Since it's very much a fun experimental fic, I'm not going to hesitate to flesh out the ushioi and the characters, so it could be short still, or it could be a little longer! Not sure as of right now, but I do promise to keep updating! thanks so much for all the suppor, it means a lot that you all are liking this fic and this pairing so far ; ; See you next time ;) 
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/itsloveuasshole)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back! Again I got sort of experimental with this chapter so...idk, I hope you like it! This fic is a lot of fun even when I get frustrated with the unfamiliar characterizations, it's nice to take a break from other more stressful projects to write some good ol ushioi ^^
> 
> Big thanks to [EmeraldWaves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldWaves/pseuds/EmeraldWaves) for reading this over!

Despite each and every one of Oikawa's protests, Ushijima brings the muffin basket.

In reality, when Ushijima extended the dinner invite, he had no genuine plan. He's probably tried a total of two restaurants in the whole town, and he's not enough of an expert to know if they were any good. They did the job at the time.

After such a confession, Oikawa took over, leading Ushijima into town with a growl of his stomach.

That, and a few comments Ushijima didn't know how to take.

_"Of course the great Ushijima wouldn't know anything about fine dining! Just goes to show how much you need people like me to help you!"_

_"That is why I asked you, yes."_

_"...."_

The ramen place they're currently at is one he's never been to, modeled stylishly and oddly situated on the street block. Truly, it's a testament to how little Ushijima goes out, otherwise he would've noticed the restaurant's face sticking too far out into the sidewalk as he walked there with muffins in tow. Oikawa skips over the jutting and uneven concrete blocks with ease, and Ushijima notes that Oikawa always walks like his arrival is being highly anticipated.

Shoulders squared and head held high, the royal stance is a strange contrast to the old beanie and yoga pants he currently has on, but Ushijima assumes he knows little about fashion these days.

He spends so much time examining Oikawa as he walks in front of him he doesn't notice they've arrived until Oikawa is gesturing to the restaurant with a self-satisfied grin and a sweeping hand gesture. Ushijima thinks he's supposed to be impressed, and as he makes sense of his surroundings, he kind of is.

Before he'd even entered, the smells had been there, wafting through the irregularly shaped walls and sitting over the street. Steamy broth and the sizzle of a grill lined with meats came together in an aroma he doesn't have the vocabulary to describe. All he knows is it's both salty and warm. As soon as it hits him, his grip tightens on the carefully crafted basket, and maybe that's the real reason he brought it at all.

To have something to hang onto, in case the world was too much.

The piping hot bowls of ramen sitting in lines on the bar make him think of his mother, along with all those afternoons in the winter spent trying to get warm. Back then, his ailments were so much less, so much easier for him to handle.

The atmosphere should bathe him in nothing but comfort, but all over again there's the nagging feeling of being a stranger. He walks like a ghost after Oikawa, listening to his recommendations as the clatter of dinnerware reverberates around him. As much as he likes Oikawa's voice, it takes a backseat for a while, and the brunet goes silent without Ushijima realizing.

He can't help but zone out. He's still so new to this little community, surrounded by black tabletops and laughing couples, the crackle of the nearby fire pit promising too much.

Too much new, too much stimulation. It's never been a problem for him before, with his tendency to miss even the most important things. It's especially hard to deal with then, this new awareness of his own position everywhere he goes, the internal criticism that perhaps he isn't fitting in as well as he thought.

He expects that feeling to hit him full force when he enters the popular spot; they'd normally settle in, sitting under his bones, but one thing is different. One things stops the criticism and faraway stares from getting to be too much. It dissolves them as they approach the pathways of his mind.

Perhaps that's why he's begun to cling to Oikawa's presence in his own mind. Instead of fretting over his own existence, his entire focus becomes monopolized by the brunet. Ushijima can't linger on anything for more than a few seconds before dutifully returning to Oikawa's judging stare.

And what a stare it is.

Through his glasses, those eyes Ushijima has such a fixation with narrow a little more. It begins to worry him; if Oikawa continues to do that, surely he will hurt his vision. The sides of Oikawa's face wrinkle with the expression, skin pinched like he doesn't quite understand anything he's beholding.

Not only that, but it appears any effort  _to_  understand is something progressively making him angrier. Ushijima would try and alleviate some of the frustration, but he doesn't know what it is that's making Oikawa so perturbed in the first place. Oikawa's nails dig into the soft flesh of his bare arms, exposed by a sports tank top. That's another distracting thing about the brunet; the small freckles and moles which dot his shoulders are easy to connect.

Oikawa's glare grows.

The look isn't even directed at Ushijima, but at the muffin basket sat plainly on their table, bows and ribbons still intact thanks to Ushijima's care. The waitress had given it a look, but otherwise had said nothing.

He's relieved nothing happened to them.

Perhaps Oikawa wants to eat one now, but the danger of spoiling their dinner is too much of a conflict. That would make sense, and Ushijima is about to comfort the brunet when he finally speaks up.

"Why." It's not a question. Those dark brown eyes flick up to Ushijima's in an instant, wide and calculating. It's quite fearsome of a look, one which would send anyone else running for the hills, but Ushijima can sense the truth behind it.

Pure determination.

A silence stretches between them, one in which Ushijima slowly starts to guess what Oikawa might be referring to. There's no hostility there, but Ushijima wonders what it must look like to an outsider; their waitress comes around the turn from the kitchen, and immediately turns back.

Oikawa must be getting the hang of being around Ushijima already though, because a second later he's providing further context.

Those eyes flick back to the muffins, head tilting almost imperceptibly towards them.

But it's enough for him to get it.

"Oh," Ushijima says, and to him it really is a no brainer. Even as Oikawa's intense face morphs into a constipated frown. "They were a gift."

The fierce, cutting gaze is reduced to nothing more than a blank stare as Oikawa freezes. Ushijima worries about his breathing for a moment.

Then, the brunet purses his lips, hands coming down to lay limply on the table. He's taking it slow. Up until this point, his words had largely hinged on being mean to Ushijima. Now...he had nothing.

And it seems to be bugging him.

"Alright, aside from the fact that's not at all an answer to...anything," he says, the first words he's spoken since they arrived at the restaurant aside from placing their orders. It's refreshing, Ushijima had missed the peculiar, expressive lilts. Even when he's the one being regarded with perplexed awe. "You could've left them at home. I wouldn't have been offended."

Ushijima's brow furrows as he looks over to the muffins, and Oikawa's frown turns into a tight, anticipatory smile. Ushijima never thought he was this fascinating, but Oikawa hangs on his every word, possibly out of dread. "I wanted to eat them in the park."

Besides, it was really no trouble to bring them. It would be rude to not share them with Oikawa, and it seemed more appropriate to eat them shortly after dinner rather than leave them on the counter.

Oikawa nods, more to himself than Ushijima.

Once, Ushijima saw a cartoon with his younger cousins. He doesn't quite remember the plot, but he does remember a small, eccentric mad scientist who would furiously scribble words into his notebook whenever anyone spoke.

Oikawa reminds him of that, though less sure of himself. Ushijima has never been listened to so intently, unless he counts interviews, and it's a change he's not sure how to deal with.

The ah-ha moment on Oikawa's features rises and falls in the span of a few seconds, replaced with a disappointment Ushijima is not too fond of seeing from him. "You...are you an old man?"

"I'm only twenty-eight."

"No I-- _nevermind_. Why the park?" Oikawa's brow arches, skeptical. He seems genuinely interested in picking his brain, like it will unlock some unknown secret. Maybe it will, Ushijima doesn't exactly know.

Ushijima thinks about it for a while, before he ultimately shrugs. He's not sure if anything he says are considered acceptable answers, but Oikawa makes him feel like it's alright to share them anyways. "It's quiet there, and there's ducks."

Ushijima knows he's never been gifted with words; even though that's the gist of it, there's so much more to his attraction of the quiet atmosphere than the small statement can offer.

Nature doesn't judge him, or speak to him.

For once, Oikawa doesn't seem too bothered by the answer. His features perk up, and Ushijima wonders if he managed to pick up on part of the meaning. The brunet purses his lips, and Ushijima waits for the inevitable, the prying or doubt. Instead, Oikawa tilts his head."Ducks?"

"Ducks."

Underrated company, if Ushijima does say so himself.

Oikawa leans back, looking satisfied in a way Ushijima doesn't understand, nodding his head with a laugh. "This is really just...how you are, huh?"

Ushijima quirks a brow, not getting it, but Oikawa doesn't linger.

That's just how he is, Ushijima supposes.

"You...really enjoy the simple things," Oikawa says, like it's a fact, the final conclusion of his initial analysis. It makes Ushijima's brow furrow.

Does he?

He remembers the long afternoons spent at the park with his dad, the trickling of the stream and the burning of his wrists as he learned to receive a volleyball for the first time. His father had looked so proud of him, almost emotional, and Ushijima had made them stay at the park until sundown. Was that considered a simple memory? Ushijima nods, unsure. "I never thought of it that way before." Then, he looks down at his hands against the black table. It's the first time Ushijima has wondered if Oikawa sees his demeanor as an act; Ushijima has never tried to be a certain way in his life. He just is. "I don't try to enjoy specific things, I--"

"You just do." Oikawa's statement, along with the hard stare he's giving Ushijima, devoid of any mocking or sardonic edge, tells him Oikawa is seeing him for who he is in that moment.

Sometimes, especially lately, Ushijima wonders who exactly he is, but he trusts his reflection if its in Oikawa's eyes. They soften considerably, no longer cutting or critical.

It might go against everything Oikawa ever believed about Ushijima, or that's what he can infer from their first meeting, but the tension that was there before has fizzled out of Oikawa like a dull firework doused in water.

For the first time in a long time, Ushijima feels himself relax, and the words pour out willingly. "There was a park back in the city where I would go to before games, the ducks would follow me sometimes," he recalls, the ghost of a smile on his face. Of course, rationally he knows they were probably only after food, but over time he didn't care. The ritual of going to the park lined up so perfectly with his lifestyle, with volleyball. He'd clear his head, feeling so normal and insignificant in the moment before he made his way onto the court. On the court he wasn't just a park goer, but a leader, yet he'd found peace in both. But come to think of it, he hasn't sat in the park since his injury, perhaps too afraid to go back to a routine that would forever be incomplete.

Ushijima frowns. "It made me feel like they trusted me..."

But he's not a captain anymore, he's barely a productive member of this town where he doesn't know half the restaurants. He's not sure he's got a right to anyone's trust.

Oikawa's stare is unreadable as their waitress comes back, setting two steaming bowls in front of them. The smell hits him, all-encompassing and delicious, and he realizes how hungry he was when his stomach tenses up.

He digs in, not thinking of his penchant for being a messy eater. His mother comments on it all the time, even as an adult, chastising him with a fondness and insight that yes, it's probably too late to change. Ushijima slurps up the noodles loudly, some of the broth spraying on the table in front of him and staining his shirt.

He can't help it; when he's enjoying a meal, there's not much room in his head to remember to be clean.

When he's almost half-way through the bowl, a laugh finally reaches him from the other side of the table. Oikawa seems to be the exception to most things; Ushijima stops eating. The brunet looks like he's holding back a powerful fit of giggles behind his lips, sewn shut tightly while his own fingers hold the chopsticks daintily. He's devoured almost the same amount of his food, but the tabletop around him is unstained.

Another huff escapes Oikawa, and his eyes light up. Ushijima's probably do the same.

With that, a comfortable silence sits over them as they finish up, Ushijima occasionally sneaking glances over the other side of the table. Sometimes, eyes stare back until they hastily return to the bowl beneath them.

When there's nothing but lone veggies swimming in the shallow broth of Oikawa's bowl, he starts picking at them, stabbing them with his chopsticks while his bottom lip is worn away by his teeth.

It's that unfamiliar expression again; the nervous, unsure one. Ushijima isn't sure that's even what it is, he's never been good at reading people. All he knows is that it's different, and doesn't sit quite right on the brunet's elegant features.

Over the course of a few seconds, Ushijima is so perplexed with it his slurping stops. The noodles his chopsticks are holding land in a sad flop at the bottom of his bowl, like wet newspaper on pavement. The sudden halt has Oikawa's gaze on him; as unsure as it is, it's just as powerful as ever, punching Ushijima in the gut.

Ushijima doesn't say anything, wouldn't know what to say if he had to. He just keeps his gaze on Oikawa's until his own wears away some kind of barrier there, and Oikawa's teeth release his bottom lip.

With an open mouth and a pause, the brunet's chopsticks hit his bowl and stay there, putting an end to whatever stalling Oikawa has built up. The brunet tilts his head, his voice so clear and singular to Ushijima he forgets they're in a crowded restaurant. "Why'd you leave?"

Oh.

Ushijima's eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and Oikawa almost looks triumphant to get a reaction out of him before remembering what he'd asked. The brunet's shoulders tense and deflate over the course of an instant.

The conversation from earlier had pretty much faded away, but Ushijima still knows immediately what Oikawa is referring to. It makes sense for him to be so curious; as loud and polluted as the city could be, Ushijima admired various aspects of it. It had been where he'd made his life, his career. Years and years spent getting used to various routines and ways of life, all to end up miles away in what city-folk would call the middle of nowhere.

He remembers Tendou's words. Oikawa had been that way too, hadn't he? Here from the city, with his trendy fashion sense and no-nonsense mask he sometimes wore. Ushijima almost worries his answer won't be what Oikawa is looking for, won't be 'correct' in his eyes.

But Ushijima has never had a reason to lie, so he doesn't. "It wasn't my idea, my parents got really worried after my injury. They wanted me to be somewhere more peaceful, less stressful."

And he'd listened. He doesn't mind or regret it; at the time, he'd been very lost, he would've gone anywhere. Even now, he's not sure he's happy here, but the space he'd carved out for himself in the city had become less accommodating as well.

If his parents thought some change was the best answer after seeing how unhappy he was, well he had no reason to doubt their advice. They'd never steered him wrong before.

But again Oikawa's face is highlighted with confusion. "Is that what you wanted?"

As much as Ushijima has always expected that question, and asked it himself, it's never actually been directed it at him. Maybe Oikawa expects an admission of regret, of resentment, but Ushijima's face admits none of that.

He tells the truth, and Oikawa's face softens when there's no lie to be found from Ushijima. "I don't know."

He's not sure he'll ever know, but all he can say with certainty right now is this town, along with Oikawa, have been refreshing. He wouldn't take back any of these moments, though they only exist due to tragedy.

He knows he's always been told that 'I don't know' isn't an acceptable answer, but for now, it's the only one he has.

Oikawa nods, fingernails scratching at his napkin, and Ushijima feels something funny in his gut. It twists and turns, like the nerves before his very first game or middle school tryouts, an anxious excitement.

The brunet clears his throat, his smile not so much fake as it is self-mocking and rueful. "I guess that makes sense. Better than my reason..."

Ushijima doesn't have the time or mind to feel guilty for not giving Oikawa the right answer; he's not even sure Oikawa blames him for doing so. It's not his fault, after all, but Ushijima understands the feeling of connecting with someone can be wrought with blind hope.

It's how he feels around Oikawa, with their identical knee braces. Of course, he knows it's silly to expect Oikawa's experience to mirror his own, or for Oikawa to be comfortable with sharing the things Ushijima does.

He wants to tell Oikawa it's not necessary to give anything back to him, but Oikawa is already bracing himself, shoulders squared like he's about to go into battle. His voice doesn't change though, it's small, unwilling. Ushijima wonders if he's ever told anyone this before.

"I'm here because I got overwhelmed," Oikawa stares with the ghost of a sneer. The pride of Oikawa is surely also a downfall in some ways; the self-criticism there is violent and rampant, but it's something Ushijima can identify with no problem. Oikawa throws up his hands in surrender, expecting people to come out of the brush and mock him perhaps, to record this admission he's kept locked away. He looks up to search for that same reaction in Ushijima, but when he doesn't find it, the relief is palpable. "The city used to be my place too, y'know. But after a while it got too loud, too much of a hassle. And well...there was no reason for me to be there after--"

Oikawa stops, and he's right to assume Ushijima doesn't need to finish that thought.

The brunet huffs a laugh, pushing his bowl aside with little else to do. "I probably should've just stuck it out, instead of being so weak."

And that's where Ushijima has to agree. He's not sure if it's his place; after all, he's not even sure if he considers himself strong these days, but he's trying. He's gotten a lot better though, come back from nothing. He can walk and run and do most of the things he used to do. That's something.

And if anyone could be considered weak in the world, he's quite positive Oikawa would be last on the list. That's just Ushijima's opinion, but he'd like to believe he's correct.

"I understand, but I don't see it as weak," he voices, and Oikawa's eyes shoot up to see if he's being truthful. He should know even after just a night, that he seldom isn't. Ushijima braces himself, repeating something he's had to in both family therapy and individual sessions. It doesn't always satisfy him, but he hopes it helps to reassure Oikawa, and maybe himself too. "If the city no longer made you feel good, there was no reason to stay."

It's hard to hear even now, to admit his own weakness. Sometimes he wonders if he could've stuck it out, pushed through these feelings. He would've turned out fine, he thinks, but in the moment after his injury...

It hadn't felt right, and he reminds himself he's made no moves to go back, or visit. He hasn't so much as felt the desire to.

And with that small step forward, he tells Oikawa as much. "I'm not sure if I belong here yet either, but I know I don't belong there anymore."

It shakes him a little, the bittersweet emotion traveling through his veins, but Oikawa's softening glance is like a salve on his wounds, the slow acceptance in them echoing Ushijima's own.

\--

Ushijima will admit it, because it's one of the most childish thoughts he's had in a long time; when he suggested going to the park, part of him expected it to be a trip back to the past, to fill him with the same warmth and purpose the city park did right before a game.

It doesn't.

This park is twice as nice as the one in the city, something so kept up and decorated, Ushijima might think Oikawa did it with his own gifted touch. The bushes are trimmed, blooming with small flowers he doesn't know the name of, and the trees stand proud and healthy apart from the few hearts carved into them. The firmly planted flower beds don't budge from the strong evening wind, and at the edge and older set of wooden rails look over the tiny valley beneath. The sunset is in perfect view.

But Ushijima has never much cared for admiring nature in this way, he likes the calm it brings, the fresh air, but now...

Staring out at all the splendor the park has to offer, he finds himself unmoved, perhaps with disappointment, and wonders if that's more his problem than the landscape's.

It shakes him a little, or...he thinks that's the best comparison. There's just something empty and hollow in his stomach, sitting there like dead weight.

He grips the muffin basket in his hands tighter, and wants to rethink his plan. He'd rather not ruin Oikawa's gift when he's like this, in this place...

There's no ducks.

He's aware of Oikawa eyes on him, oddly expectant from his side as he leans over the rail.

At a loss for what to say, Ushijima says what surely would be in Oikawa's head in such a stunning place. "It's beautiful," he manages, despite his true feelings. This would be a place Oikawa likes, he assumes. Like some secret garden, well maintained and devoid of litter.

He expects an easy agreement, but when he gets silence, he looks back at Oikawa to see those brown eyes light up with amusement. There's another strange look on his face, different, almost smug. As if Oikawa has found a puzzle piece and placed it perfectly. The brunet's next words shock Ushijima more than he would care to admit. "You're just saying that because you think it's what you should say."

Ushijima doesn't have time to school his features, he looks as surprised as he feels, staring at Oikawa like he's some sort of alien. He might as well be, Ushijima has never met anyone like him.

And Oikawa gets it, right on the nose. Ushijima hadn't wanted to spread his disappointment to the brunet but...

Either he's just as bad at lying as he thought, or Oikawa is a fast learner when it comes to Ushijima. The last one makes his heart beat just a little faster. Even though Ushijima has tried to be as open about his feelings as possible, whether to his parents or therapist, Oikawa is the one person who he doesn't feel ashamed to admit these things to.

And the brunet doesn't seem to mind.

"Am I wrong?" Oikawa asks, softer this time, the edge to his smile fading by the second. He has to know he's not, but the question is considerate enough for Ushijima to notice.

Stupidly, he shakes his head.

The laugh and look he gets are as understanding as they are genuine. Oikawa looks out into the valley, the wind tussling his brown locks. There's no real appreciation in his face either, but just by looking at him, most of Ushijima's nerves dissipate. Oikawa squints then, the wind cold enough to brighten his cheeks, and tilts his head back at Ushijima. "Do you actually care about the view? At all?"

This time, there's no point in lying, but Ushijima doesn't take a second look at said view to decide. He keeps his eyes trained on the smooth skin of Oikawa's face, those fierce eyes framed by old, grandfather frames. "Not this one."

It's a fact; maybe in time, he'll come to appreciate this park and it's views as much as the city's, but for now Oikawa is much more interesting, with every mannerism and squint he offers.

Still, Ushijima is at a loss as to why he's suddenly blushing.

The brunet coughs loudly as he shuts his eyes, looking haughty enough for Ushijima to wonder if he said something offensive.

Perhaps Oikawa does like this park after all.

However, Oikawa doesn't say much else; he hops off the rail with a final glance out, tilting his head in the direction of their homes up the long, sloping road.

"Then let's go," he says, like it's easy...and it is. Ushijima finds some relief in that, in knowing he's allowed to act on his discomfort. It's not something he's used to, preferring to meet challenges head on and persevere.

But lately, he's been trying to be kinder to himself.

Oikawa looks back at him, expectant and impatient enough to make Ushijima smile, and his feet move without any further hesitation.

\--

For whatever reason, he finds it necessary to give Oikawa a tour of the house. After all, he's seen the inside of Oikawa's, so it's a fair exchange, plus his mother would scold him otherwise for not being polite.

It's only then he notices how much plainer it is, but he's not insecure about it, doesn't have the insight to be. Oikawa has a style and flair he could never dream of matching, and he likes it that way. Oikawa should be the one who attracts attention, everything about him is quite admirable.

In addition, Oikawa himself is pleasant to look at. Like warm tea at night, the sight of the brunet calms his nerves. He doesn't question it, just takes in every critical expression Oikawa has as he goes through his home.

Comments about the dullness of the wall and drape colors are noted, but Ushijima can't see himself actually doing anything to change them.

He simply likes listening to Oikawa's friendly rage at Ushijima's lack of posters, no splashes of color to be found. The only thing praised outright is the small stand where all the pictures of his family sit.

Still, Ushijima enjoys himself. He even has a muffin, probably the best he's had yet in the town.

Oikawa is strangely proper about them.  _"They're apology muffins! I can't have one!"_

And somehow, that reasoning makes Ushijima all the happier.

Until they get to the last door of his house, the one which sits just on the other end of the living room. At first glance, it might be nothing more than a bathroom or a storage closet, but..

Oikawa's hand brushes the handle, and the piece of muffin Ushijima is chewing doesn't go down as soft and fluffy as the last. It slides down dry, too thick and unfavorable. Without thinking, his large palm flies out to rest on the door, slamming it almost as he would a volleyball.

Oikawa squeaks, eyes flying up to Ushijima's until they lock.

Oh. Ushijima hadn't thought about this. He hadn't thought at all.

It's just...

He hasn't even been in here yet. The thought of Oikawa seeing something which is technically a reminder of failure is...daunting, to say the least. Though, Ushijima has to remind himself it's simply the insecurity talking.

Still, at the realization of Oikawa seeing  _this_  room, his pulse hiccups, his breathing evening out as he pants. The hand planted firmly on the door curls into a fist as Ushijima gathers himself, the ridiculousness of his reaction settling in on him.

Regardless, Oikawa waits to open the door, not budging.

Ushijima swallows, awkwardly pulling his hand away. It's as stiff as a branch, coming to his side like it's pulled by strings, not quite sure how to work itself yet.

It's just a room, he tells himself.

But it's also not; it's...everything he used to be. Ushijima isn't even sure what he's afraid of...he just fears that something in that room will set him back weeks, months. He's come far from the injury, but not far enough. How is he going to feel, looking at all those accomplishments and knowing he won't be gaining anymore of them?

It's possible the room will have no more effect than his everyday thoughts do, anymore than the park or old game tapes. But it might, and that's been enough for him to stay away up to this point.

The thought of Oikawa being with him, as worrisome as it is on one hand, is calming on the next.

Oikawa stares at him, then his hand, and back. "Problem?"

Those eyes are so searching...they already  _know_  there's one.

Ushijima opens his mouth, fully intent on explaining the real problem in a way that isn't a mess, but all that comes out is "This is the trophy room."

_My trophy room._

Ushijima closes his eyes, scolding himself. That should mean nothing to Oikawa, it offers no real explanation or excuse, but in truth, Ushijima has never been good at either. He speaks his mind and...that's all it had to offer.

One look back at Oikawa's face tells him maybe it wasn't so misunderstood. There's shock there, like the realization has dawned on him. Oikawa lets go of the handle like it burns, backing up a step as the weight of Ushijima's words come down on them both. He looks...comically lost. It's probably not in Oikawa's nature to not be nosy; after all, he barged into Ushijima's kitchen like it was his own, lifting up containers and opening drawers as if he were a home inspector. Ushijima wonders if it was just a feeling which made Oikawa hesitate at the one door Ushijima overlooked.

Oikawa fidgets, torn between opening the door anyways and waiting for Ushijima to do  _something_. The curiosity is too much for the brunet, and he has the look of someone who doesn't trust themselves to make the correct call in this situation. One glance at Ushijima's stricken face has him playing it safe though, making the move to turn around and get as far from the door as possible. "Oh, well--"

"It's fine," Ushijima finds himself saying, though his stomach drops and rises over the next split second. So far, Oikawa has been nothing but understanding about these sorts of things. They are tremendously different people, but Ushijima feels as if he can trust Oikawa. Like a natural born leader, an equal of his. It's just a room. A room. "You can go in."

Immediately, Oikawa's brow is arched, skeptical in all the ways Ushijima is coming to recognize.

"It's fine," he repeats himself, moving his stiff branch of an arm to gesture towards the door handle. He doesn't want to be the one to open it. "Truly."

"After you then," Oikawa shoots back in an instant, challenging him. The moment of timid hesitation from before is gone. Oikawa's back is straight, his head high, and it's clear to Ushijima in an instant: Oikawa won't go unless he does.

That's the thing too; Ushijima has a feeling they're similar in another way, in that they cannot back down from a fight.

It's more than that though, Oikawa is trying to help him in his own way. Ushijima has avoided this room for so long, he has nothing but bad reactions to the thought of it, but yet...

He'll never learn to deal with it if he doesn't take the first step. To move on, he'll have to do it sometime.

And yes, perhaps it will set him back. It might make him miserable and ruin his night, but maybe that's okay. It's a small price to pay for healing, and besides...

This time he isn't alone.

Ushijima takes a deep breath, nodding once as he looks back at the white, unused door. The handle is cold and smooth on his hand, like the first day he moved in, but unlike all the times he thought about actually turning it, he acts on the impulse this time. He feels Oikawa's footsteps behind him, waiting to follow, and then there's no need to wait anymore.

Ushijima takes his first step.

It still smells like packing peanuts in the room, a fine layer of dust covering the wood floor from how long it's been uncared for.

Yet, all Ushijima sees is gold.

And from that first sight alone, at least he knows this place will only be a source of happy memories, regardless of how he feels after the fact.

Pictures stare back at him from the various cases his parents set up for him; his teammates smile back, from as early as his middle school days. So many years of honing his skills and working with a team...

The trophies get larger as his eyes follow the lineup, until all he sees are medals and gifts from fans, proof that at one point, he was the best.

He feels something tight in his throat, but nothing comes of it.

He's aware of Oikawa's eyes on him, but eventually the brunet acts on his curiosity, gently examining a frame with his fingertips, hands scanning over Ushijima's engraved name. When the brunet chuckles, it's loud in the silence. "You know, when you first moved here, seeing all this stuff would've pissed me the fuck off."

It gets a small smile out of Ushijima and he's thankful. While he never got to find out where Oikawa's resentment stemmed from, he has a pretty good idea. It's easy to be envious of those who have what you don't, but Ushijima is one of those without now.

"Now I just..." Oikawa whispers, his face flashing with pity. Regardless, apologies from Oikawa feel few and far between, and he's given Ushijima one already. Ushijima understands his guilt, and forgives him. "Well, apology muffins."

The explanation is all he has to say; now that they understand one another, it's hard to hold ill will. And Ushijima is sure Oikawa tried to.

"Thank you," he says, standing in the same spot as before. It's too much still...to go and touch one of his displays. Small steps, he reminds himself. For now, staring at his reflection in the polished metal is enough. If Oikawa weren't there, surely he'd be overthinking, wondering if he'd be able to go on without playing on the court at least one more time.

But for now, those thoughts stay at bay, and it's a small triumph.

Thoughtfully, Oikawa taps one of the framed magazine covers Ushijima did. It's a photograph of him about to deliver a winning spike; it's all power and brute strength, the focus on Ushijima's face eagle-like in intensity. He remembers the moment vividly, but Oikawa's words stop him from chasing it.

Oikawa's words are too valuable to him.

"I never got to go pro," the brunet reveals, and that same anger from earlier flares up again. If there's one thing Ushijima has learned, it's that Oikawa hates having to talk about his own failures. Though, he's sure the brunet wouldn't hesitate to punch anyone in the mouth for doing the same. "My injury happened in high school."

At the words, Oikawa shifts some of his weight off his bad knee. Though he's not wearing the brace, Ushijima can't help but search for it, all too aware of his own.

It's personal, even he realizes it. Oikawa is giving him this information because...well, Ushijima assumes it's because he trusted him first. Oikawa is reciprocating in the only way he knows how, and Ushijima refuses to take it lightly.

"That...that must've been very hard," he says, not trying to say too many unnecessary things. He's not good at this part, at comforting others, but he's as genuine as they come. Oikawa nods, and Ushijima knows he gets that.

Besides, Ushijima knows better than anyone how devastating it can be, and to think....Oikawa's career never had a chance to start.

"I was miserable." Oikawa turns away scratching the back of his head, as if remembering such unpleasant times is a task in itself. "I hated everything, everyone...but mostly myself."

The admission is strained, regretful; Oikawa must hate to confess something so personal. Ushijima doesn't say anything out of respect.

The rueful smile Oikawa gives himself as he stares at one of the shiny trophies is enough to make Ushijima's heart do...something, he's not sure what. But it's not good.

"My best friend used to tell me I overworked, and well...guess he was right," Oikawa says with a scoff. "I pushed too far too hard and look where it got me."

He doesn't elaborate further, and Ushijima doesn't think he can. Nor does he want to. Ushijima accepts that because...well, convincing himself to go to therapy had been a huge step. He can barely talk to his parents about all this, or himself...

It's difficult, and it's a continuous journey. Oikawa is proof of that. Though, in Ushijima's opinion, Oikawa's life now is just fine. He's content, he's found other things he loves, and he's adjusted to life completely here.

Ushijima is still trying to catch up with all that.

Oikawa is an inspiration in many ways.

Ushijima communicates what he can of that. "I think what you've done is very admirable Oikawa-san."

The brunet smiles, wistful in a way, and it's a new expression Ushijima isn't sure he likes. It looks...nice on Oikawa though, as do most things. "It took me a long time to convince myself, but I believe it for the most part now," the brunet voices with a nod, mostly to himself. Those powerful eyes pin Ushijima to the spot in the next second, like it's something he better not forget. "Injury doesn't make me...or anyone, inferior."

The 'that includes you' doesn't need to be said, and again Ushijima's heart clenches uncomfortably. It's painful, but necessary he figures. It's like being in this room...so many good and happy memories, reminders of his accomplishments. They can't be taken away from him, and he has to remind himself it was more than his physical skill that got him so much recognition. He should be proud, no matter how things turned out.

Just like Oikawa.

He's just not there yet, and...he thinks that's alright too.

"I know that, but in truth, I'm not convinced yet," he admits, leaning against the far wall near the door. "For myself, at the very least." He would never dream of calling Oikawa inferior.

He looks towards the door; he's had enough for the day, and sensing as much, Oikawa begins to walk out as well. Before he passes, there's a pause in his step, and he doesn't look at Ushijima again until they're out of the trophy room and back to the front lawn.

Despite that, Oikawa's words sit with him the rest of the time he's there, and even longer into the night.

_"I think that's more than okay."_

And somehow, hearing it from Oikawa's mouth makes it all the more convincing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Comments are always appreciated <3 
> 
> Follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/itsloveuasshole) because I'll potentially be doing a giveaway soon (real close to 500 followers ahh) and you could win a fic from me!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back just in time for the start of the month lol! This fic keeps leading me down different paths and directions but I'm not mad at it, my soft spot for ushioi just grows bigger lol. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Big thanks to [EmeraldWaves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldWaves/pseuds/EmeraldWaves) for reading this over!

Ushijima isn't quite sure how or why it happens, but Oikawa weaves himself into every aspect of his schedule.

In the morning, Oikawa jogs with him to the gym before leaving Ushijima off right as they hit the property and see Tendou's bright red hair in the distance. It was quite remarkable the first time, seeing how hard Oikawa stopped his jogging pace while Ushijima kept running. Oikawa insists he'll 'burn up in fiery hell-fire if he so much as steps onto the premises' but even Ushijima knows that's an exaggeration.

He doesn't question it though, and he doesn't have to wait long to see the brunet again. They meet at Ushijima's favorite grocery store in the afternoon; Ushijima buys what he needs for the week, including some new things to try and make with Oikawa.

Over the past week or so, they'd been trying a different recipe each night, and ended up ordering food fifty percent of the time. Still it's an experience, and it's relaxing. Much better than Ushijima sitting alone on his porch or trying to get into the many television shows his mother recommended to him. Oikawa's commentary is loud and amusing, especially when the inevitable moment comes when one of them messes up the recipe somehow and make a mess.

_Oikawa looks down at the recipe card for the third time, then back at the heaping pile of brown gunk sitting on a plate. It’s supposed to be chicken._

_At this point, Ushijima can’t tell by look or smell, since the only scent in the air is the charred underside of their creation. He appreciates Oikawa’s effort, but there’s no way he’s eating that._

_His mother would have a fit._

_“It…it looks kind of similar right?” Oikawa asks hopefully, staring at the bright, delectable image on the recipe. Definitely chicken._

_Ushijima only shakes his head twice, and Oikawa promptly sighs before discus-throwing the plate into the garbage._

That’s how it normally goes, though sometimes with more chaos. Oikawa doesn't seem like the type to shriek, but he nearly deafened Ushijima that first night when their pot of stew boiled over.

He's not sure what went wrong to this day.

Ushijima smiles at the memories as he takes his time down the aisles, setting down a variety of ingredients into organized rows within the cart. Perhaps pasta will be a better way to go.

Meanwhile Oikawa goes to the bakery next door with Ushijima's conservative list of pastries his mother and father like, and is no longer surprised when Oikawa buys twice as many for himself and Ushijima to share.

He’s beginning to get a gut. His metabolism is good, but not on Oikawa’s level.

Ushijima starts hiding the loaves of milk bread after a while, mostly because he fears too much will make Oikawa sick.

Oikawa always finds it.

They don't do yoga together anymore though, because one time Oikawa attempted an advanced stretch despite Ushijima's warnings and fell over the railing into a sticker bush. They don't talk about it for some reason, but Ushijima fondly remembers picking the brambles from the brunet's soft hair.

_“I fucking hate yoga,” Oikawa says with a pout, his face red from what Ushijima guesses to be embarrassment. He doesn’t know why, but he imagines it has to do with Oikawa’s strong sense of pride. The brunet pouts further when he manages to get the last sticker out of his foot, the wince audible over the wind rustling over the deck._

_“I did advise you to—”_

_“I know.” Oikawa continues to grumble, rubbing his hands over the irritated skin. His body might be clear of the stickers but…his hair still needs quite a bit of work._

_They fall into a comfortable silence like that, with Ushijima’s large hands coming through his brown locks. They’re so soft, and smell even sweeter than the flowers Oikawa looks after. Ushijima finds himself slowing his pace, if only to keep his hands buried._

_It’s a strange, unfamiliar calm, but he doesn’t question it._

_Oikawa never protests._

Ushijima works yoga into his sessions with Tendou after that, freeing his evening slot. Instead, Ushijima will finish reading the book Tsukishima gave him before he and Oikawa head over to the library to get more.

They've had to move their discussions to the kid section though, because Oikawa has gotten into the habit of arguing loudly with the blond whenever they disagree about the way a book ended.

 It's all very educational.

Without him realizing it, Oikawa's presence becomes expected, if not essential. Ushijima's days never used to feel so lonely, but now on the off-chance Oikawa doesn't come to see him first thing in the morning, he's left with a strange rawness in his gut.

Like something is missing.

He's never been one to crave the company of others; maybe this is a change for the better. The thought of not talking to Oikawa, or Tendou, or Tsukishima has the smile dropping from his face.

It's just as shocking to realize that same peaceful smile is nearly constant these days.

He still doesn't go into his trophy room without Oikawa, but the dread which came from passing it or staring at it too long has started to ebb away like the flower petals in the breeze at Oikawa's nursery.

And really, Ushijima thinks that might be his new favorite addition to his routine; on the weekends, he accompanies Oikawa to the small plot of land on the outskirts of town, and helps in whatever ways he can.

Usually, he waters the plants near the entrance so they look extra nice to the guests, but other days he'll break more of a sweat helping Oikawa setup new planters.

Today though, things are easy, and he watches with genuine enjoyment as Oikawa moves some of the succulents he has into bigger pots.

"You can't tell me you liked  _all_  your teammates," Oikawa pries, pulling Ushijima back into the conversation they'd been having. Oikawa bites his lip as his gentle fingers push the damp mulch firmly around the succulent, his eyes lifting to catch Ushijima's for but a second. It's enough for Ushijima to understand Oikawa's expectation.

Ushijima thinks for a moment.

Atsumu was quite cocky, but a good setter overall, and most of his confidence was earned in Ushijima's opinion. Kuroo always seemed to have the ability to shut out their opponents, and he was always aware of what was going on behind him even when he didn't have to be. The amount of saves he managed never failed to impress Ushijima. Come to think of it, all his teammates were exceptional; Nishinoya, Semi, Goshiki...

Ushijima sighs fondly, remembering the overbearing amount of flowers and get well cards sent to him by the lot of them, starters or not. Kuroo still calls to check up on him, though Ushijima isn't sure how the city boy will fair here if he ever comes to visit.

Oikawa watches Ushijima's face in amusement; he once said it's very easy to see the way Ushijima's mind works through his features, but Ushijima never picked up any offense in the statement.

"They were all very skilled and dedicated to the sport," he says after some time, smiling to himself.

Oikawa snorts out a laugh. "You're really not good at gossip are you? Nothing juicy, no extramarital affairs or controversies?"

"They were all honorable men."

"To you maybe," Oikawa smirks, and that's fair he guesses. Ushijima isn't one to notice things that don't pertain to volleyball, not back then anyways.

Now it's volleyball, mystery novels, and Oikawa himself.

The brunet shakes off some of the dirt from his hands, grimacing at the bits caught under his fingernails as he organizes the pots onto the cart behind him.

Ushijima takes that as his cue to get up, following Oikawa dutifully as he rolls the cart easily around the nursery, mind debating on the best spots to place the new plants. Ushijima's eyes linger on the flex of muscles in his arms, and the sweat beading on his forehead, those eyes methodically flicking through the shady spots of land.

"At least tell me I was a better setter than the one on your team," Oikawa fishes, placing the first of his plants down onto the concrete. He holds his head high afterwards, smug as he can be. "Make my day."

He's of course referring to the set of matches he sent to Ushijima from his high school days, and watching them gave Ushijima a rush he'd been missing when it came to the sport. It was nice to sit back and enjoy a match on his television, one he couldn't predict the outcome of because he didn't know the players or the stakes.

And besides that...Oikawa had been outstanding in his form and execution. The power behind his serves was unmatched, and as the whole crowd cheered in the recording, Ushijima couldn't help but be on the edge of his seat.

He hopes Oikawa knows how good he was.

Even though the brunet's words are as haughty and exaggerated as usual, there's a dip in the brunet's voice at the end, as if he second guessed himself for a moment. Judging from the way he's holding the next succulent with uncertainty, Ushijima assumes that's the cause.

He doesn't need to think about the answer to this question much though, it's clear as day, and makes his skin feel abnormally warm. He should stop standing in the sun.

Oikawa stares at him with bird of prey intensity, and Ushijima watches the way his throat bobs when he swallows, hanging onto Ushijima's words as if they're not the simple truth.

Ushijima will never understand that response when it comes to the brunet.

"You are one of the best setters I've ever watched," he states, and it's true. "I could see how passionate you were from the tapes, and your ability to match the abilities of your spikers was quite admirable."

Oikawa's adjustments were sometimes slight, but to Ushijima's trained eye, he could see every consideration Oikawa made for the good of his team. Even though the recordings were old, Ushijima's blood rushed at every spike, almost as if he was rooting in the stands.

He supposes there's a reason Oikawa seldom lost.

Ushijima tips his head back as he thinks; he wishes he were better with words, the praise he's give is true but not necessarily what he intended, and something in his heart feels dissatisfied at not being able to give more.

When he looks back at Oikawa, it's not disappointment he sees. He's not sure what is it; Oikawa's freezes behind one of thin trees he's growing in the bigger planter, half his face hidden by the trunk. His nails graze the wood and Ushijima almost wants to ask if he's having heat stroke from the way his face flushes.

Seeing Oikawa look so...discombobulated is something Ushijima can't understand, but he doesn't get a chance to linger on it.

"O-oh, you...you think?" Oikawa asks, biting his lip. Ushijima's eyes catch on the slight smile on his lips before it's gone, replaced by the usual pride Ushijima is familiar with. Oikawa holds his head high and steps out from his hiding place, grabbing the nearest pot to continue his routine. "I mean, duh. I didn't earn all my awards for nothing."

Ushijima laughs lightly, and Oikawa's eyes light up. Ushijima never used to enjoy the company of those with too much confidence, but everything about Oikawa is earned. Oikawa undoes a lot of Ushijima's convictions.

Ushijima cannot be challenged on the court anymore, he acknowledges that, and neither can Oikawa. But Oikawa challenges him in new, welcomed ways, if only by making Ushijima try and decipher every scrunch of his face.

"You deserved them," Ushijima reaffirms, in case Oikawa needs it. "Thank you for sharing the tapes with me."

"It's...no trouble," Oikawa mumbles, scattering some extra soil around the last few plants. Oikawa takes a lot of pride in his nursery, which makes a lot of sense now to Ushijima. Oikawa always has to be competitive about something, this just happens to be a more productive area to channel those feelings. "I have to give you something to do when I'm not around instead of reading megane-chan's terrible book recs!"

That too.

"You don't like the one for this week?" Ushijima asks. His brow furrows as he remembers the premise; not exactly his thing. Reincarnated lovers, and a decent amount of violence. The writing is captivating though he'll admit, and he has his commentary ready about the unwise decisions of the gods above. He never took Tsukishima for the type but... "I thought you liked mythology."

"This one is too sad." Oikawa's nose scrunches up and he sneezes with the next breeze, fallen dirt and pedals kicking up in the wind. It's such a nice day, he wishes he could stay with Oikawa the whole time. Ushijima can't help but be amused; he never would've thought Oikawa to be the sensitive type, but if Ushijima is having such thoughts...he's not that different is he?

Oikawa begins wheeling the empty cart back to the main structure of the nursery, and he looks over his shoulder at Ushijima with determination. Ushijima can do nothing but dutifully follow, and it's been something he's had no trouble getting used to. "Next time, I'm picking the book!"

He can't imagine that going well, not with the history between Oikawa and the young librarian in the past few weeks. He's not sure why Oikawa insists on pitting himself against the blond, but Ushijima doesn't mind Oikawa tagging along. He's come to look forward to it.

"I don't think Tsukishima-san will like that," he warns, and it's genuine. He can't help but wonder if they're risking Tsukishima's job over their frequent meetups. One day, he imagines one of them will simply lose it and yell at each other.

Ushijima considers moving their conversations outdoors.

Oikawa parks the cart back into place where it belongs with a huff. The nursery may not be huge, the plot small with only a long greenhouse built on it, but it's still quite a lot of work to maintain. Ushijima dutifully organizes the nearby seed packets as Oikawa speaks. "Well he'll just have to deal with it! If I bring it up tonight, you better back me up."

Oikawa's accusing smirk and his words should be nothing new to Ushijima at this point, though he does expect the usual rush of air to come out of his lungs for whatever reason. This time however, he only feels a twisting discomfort in his gut.

Ah yes, he's been meaning to tell Oikawa this all through the day; Ushijima guesses it's finally the time. He's not sure why he's been delaying it, but when it comes to Oikawa, he hardly understands most of his reactions.

That's why the topic of his parents' visit has stayed far off his list of things to talk about.

He loves his parents, but this longing to stay here on this tiny plot of land is strong. As much as he values their company, they always fret and worry. It makes Ushijima remember he's not as strong and sturdy as Oikawa treats him.

But he reasons it's his parents' job to worry, and being a good son, all he can do is indulge them.

"I won't be able to go tonight," Ushijima says, automatically taken aback by the disappointment which slips through.

Oikawa's body spins around on a dime, it furthers Ushijima's confusion, and he grabs the cart for support.

"Why?" Oikawa looks far too upset for the situation, as if Ushijima had told him he was moving instead. As if realizing the error, the brunet clears his throat and looks elsewhere. "I mean...it's not like you to mess up your routine."

The small laugh the brunet produces sounds feeble and sad compared to the real thing.

"My parents are coming to visit for the night to have dinner." It's nothing out of the ordinary, and for a while, it was Ushijima's only company at his own home. Ushijima had tried to tell his mother not to check up on him so much, but it had been futile. "They want to see how I'm doing."

They're only stopping for the night at least, a stop on their monthly vacation to visit Ushijima's grandparents. Oikawa is right about one thing: Ushijima likes to preserve his routine.

And Oikawa happens to be a part of it now.

"Oh." The brunet blinks, and he nods to himself quickly. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense."

The nervous laugh is not something Ushijima could infer about if he tried.

They stare at each other for a moment too long, given how they are now. Oikawa isn't one to not fill up silences with words, but this time he hesitates, coughing as his mind catches up. "So...we won't be trying out the soba until tomorrow huh?"

Oh, that's right. That's their new recipe attempt of the week, one Ushijima was quite looking forward to. He matches Oikawa's growing smile with his own.

"I don't think my parents would appreciate a burned kitchen."

The noise Oikawa makes reminds Ushijima of a chicken. "W-We can't mess up soba that bad!"

"That's what we said about the brownies," Ushijima reminds him, more grim than mocking. His kitchen still smells like the burnt bits of chocolate; Oikawa has been supplying him with at least two pancake scented candles a week, but he keeps telling him it's no use.

Oikawa is ever determined.

Oikawa squints at him, hands freezing mid-reach for the seed packets. "I don't know if I like this new you, you're getting too sassy."

"I don't know what you mean." He really doesn't.

Oikawa's sigh is long and dramatic, normal, and Ushijima is glad. "Of course you don't. Whatever, I'll just have to entertain myself tonight."

The wind blows again and kicks up the dirt into their eyes, the assortment of tacky chimes resounding loudly around him, and Ushijima thinks it's coming from his head for a moment. There's something there, a weird tapping or resounding noise which feels like a weight settling deep inside him. It aches in a dull way, like how he'd feel when he lost a new volleyball in the ravine or didn't see his father waiting for him after school. Something wistful, longing.

It's like the chimes are doing him a service in masking that feeling somehow, but it doesn't get rid of it completely. Ushijima decides he doesn't like it at all, the thought of Oikawa being in his big house by himself.

He can't explain why, but he's not so out of tune with his emotions he can't sense something so apparent.

He watches as Oikawa kicks some of the dirt off his shoes slowly, lacking the usual energy or annoyance; maybe he feels it too?

It's too big of an assumption to make.

The feeling compels Ushijima to speak anyways, the words nearly instinctual.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he reassures, before he even realizes the intent behind it. Oikawa's head shoots up from where it's bowed, and Ushijima cannot stop himself for anything when those eyes look at him. "All day."

Oikawa's eyes widen along with his.

He knows logically it's unrealistic; he's never with Oikawa all day, and it would be ridiculous to spend so much time with one friend. But the feeling surges at the thought that he could, and would, without hesitation.

The thought that Oikawa might as well makes the feeling settle, and it blooms into something Ushijima cannot identify.

Oikawa's face softens as the wind rustles his bangs, and neither of them mind the dirt this time around. "Yeah. You'd better."

\--

Despite the odd toll it takes on him to leave Oikawa behind, the visit with his parents is mostly warm and refreshing.

His mother hugs him tight, and almost bursts into tears for no reason at the door. Something about how Ushijima looks…brighter.

He doesn’t dare ask what that means, for fear of another crying spell.

Plus, he has some of his own emotions to tackle, and his parents must sense that. It’s never easy for him to share some things, and that’s what therapy is for. But this…he wants them to know this.

“I went into the trophy room a few weeks ago,” he says over dinner, a statement he’s been hoarding within all night. Yet when he speaks, it’s like he’s stating the weather, and his parents freeze up mid-sip of their drinks.

Ushijima feels the ghost of a cold sweat, but it never comes to fruition.

His father’s face lights up in ways Ushijima seldom sees, and his mother begins sniffling again. The pressure dissipates, and he can breathe.

“That’s wonderful news! We’re so happy for you!”

“How was it? I know it must’ve been hard on your own,” his dad says, leaning forward with concern. “You should’ve called! It must’ve been a lot for you…”

“Well I wasn’t alone, I had…a friend,” Ushijima tests the word out, doesn’t quite think it’s right, but knows Oikawa is nowhere near a stranger anymore. “He’s been helping me quite a lot, and I’m grateful.”

“That’s such great news Wakatoshi…”

Ushijima can’t help but chuckle. It’s ridiculous he thinks, to hear his parents congratulate him over something as simple as entering a room, but they know how much it means to him. Maybe that’s why Ushijima doesn’t neglect the details. It takes a lot for him, but he tells his parents about how he finally went into the trophy room with Oikawa's help, and does what he can to articulate the feelings of relief it brought to his life. Every feeling, every doubt, he tries his best to make it all sensical.

He’s just happy his parents are there to listen.

From there, they talk about how his therapy calls are going, his exercise schedule (they always worry he's overworking himself), and even a little bit about the current volleyball matches on television.

It's more than nice to see his father's face light up with pleasant surprise after holding back his sports talk from Ushijima for months.

He says it's been less upsetting to watch them now, since Oikawa tends to come over and cook while they do so. Ushijima isn't quite sure what causes it, but it leads the table talk down an Oikawa filled path. He talks about the books he reads with Oikawa, the grocery trips with Oikawa, the discussion of a day trip to the city with Oikawa...

“Yesterday Oikawa and I went to the nearby winery,” he recalls, remembering the fresh air out in the vineyards.

His mother and father exchange a look then, one Ushijima can’t read, and his parents are fairly predictable people. “Sweetie…you don’t drink.”

“I had to make sure Oikawa got home safely.” He knows the brunet can handle himself fine, but he finds himself fretting about Oikawa about as much as the brunet does with him. For good reason. “Once he wanted to see a film a town over, so I met him after training.  He rode back on his own, then I found out he got a flat tire and didn’t have help. I can’t imagine him being intoxicated in a taxi or otherwise.”

It’s a valid point, in his mind.

“Ah…alright.” His mother pauses, smiling with encouragement. “It’s good you’re getting out so much! I never would’ve thought! I just hope you’re relaxing too.”

Oh, well there’s no need to worry about that.

“Oikawa and I have movie nights on Thursdays.” Ushijima takes a sip from his tea, pushing around the vegetables on his plate and wondering if he and Oikawa would ever be able to make a successful stir-fry.

He continues to bring up Oikawa after that, so many times he loses count. It’s simply the facts though, there’s no reason to lie.

He realizes Oikawa is over a lot, probably a decent change for his parents to learn about, but Ushijima figures it’s no big deal. They all have their routines, and it's nothing out of the ordinary to him; Oikawa is his friend now, at least he thinks he is. Friends do a lot together, or so he's been told by Tendou (though he had a strange look on his face when he said it).

So Ushijima doesn't expect to look up from his meal to find his parents staring at him with such confusion.

Perhaps he is being rude, he's not one to talk this much usually. He straightens up his posture and stops slurping his noodles, suddenly wary of their stares. Perhaps they're not as convinced of his progress as he would've thought, and though the thought saddens him, he values his parents' opinions.

His mother exchanges a look with his father, setting down her hands flat onto the table. Her smile is a bit tight when she looks up to Ushijima, but it's no less loving. "Well, we think all that is great dear, we're so proud of you."

"Unbelievably proud," his father interjects, and Ushijima has no reason to doubt that.

"But...we do worry about you only having this neighbor of yours around," his mother continues. "And I know you have other friends in town but--"

"Are you sure you're not too lonely son?" His father asks, softer and more to the point. Ushijima always appreciated that about him, though the question still takes him off guard. "You're getting on okay?"

"I believe so," Ushijima admits, though he does humor his parents by pausing beforehand. If he acts as if he's thought about it, it'll help. And in truth, he has wondered if his isolation has had a negative effect. He's never sought people out, or needed them, but it doesn't mean he never had them. He's used to his parents being close by, to all his teammates constantly bringing him out to dinners and events. Alone time was never something he had a lot of apart from the weekends.

Despite that, he doesn't think the smaller support group he's attained here has had a negative effect, far from it.

"We just hate the thought of you being in this house all by yourself," his mother admits, and the sadness in her eyes does make Ushijima lower himself. He's her son, he can't help it. "Oikawa seems to be a lovely person, but he can't be around non-stop."

At the reminder, that feeling from the nursery returns. Ushijima's hand comes to rub at his neck, as if it's the source of the unknown discomfort, but nothing changes. The ache is the same.

Yet, he knows they're right. It's selfish to assume things will always be this way, and while he does hope to keep Oikawa in his life, he simply doesn't know how their schedules will diverge in the future.

He has Tendou and Tsukishima, and his teammates out of town, but he knows that's not enough to quell his parents and their concerns.

"I know," he says, nodding to himself. It was never his intention to rely on Oikawa's friendship alone for the rest of his life. For so long though, he felt so young and invincible; the things his parents are hinting at seemed years and years away. But now they're very close, closer than he cares for.

It doesn't feel like the right time quite yet.

"Are you suggesting I move away again? Closer to you?" Ushijima ventures to ask, but his parents soothe his worries over that quickly.

"Oh honey, of course not!" His mother laughs, reaching over to pat Ushijima's hand. The fist he didn't realize he had clenched unfurls. "You've built a good life here, a peaceful life! Plus I love the weather, the real estate here is amaz--"

"What your mother means is," his father interrupts with a chuckle, patting his mother's shoulder. He levels Ushijima with that same, even look that always made all his fears disappear into nothing. "Is that we'd never force you to do anything. We just ask you to consider...maybe seeing someone? I know Oikawa is a good friend, but I’d hate for you to fall into a rut if he gets himself a girlfriend or gets busy!”

At the thought of either of those things, Ushijima’s stomach clenches uncontrollably. It makes him grimace, but his father sighs in that same kind way he always does, and Ushijima can’t help but listen to him. “I love that you’re going out more and doing things you like, and I like the thought of someone being there to do those things with you…permanently. Settling down might be good for you! And you never know who you might connect with! We have quite a few friends with kids your age..."

He lets the words wash over him.

Settling down? Like marriage?

It's...both what Ushijima expects and what he doesn't.

He leans back into his chair slowly, letting it settle in his head; he owes his parents that much. There's no pressure, he knows that. If he says no, his parents will back off immediately; that's how it's always been. Perhaps they have a point. Ushijima has never thought about dating or marriage, the connection and desire have never been there. At most, he's escorted his neighbor to her high school prom, and that had been purely innocent.

It's never been a priority or a want, but he can't deny it might be good for him. To have someone there as his partner, like on a volleyball court, someone to watch his back and plan out life with.

It seems silly to think about still, and his stomach doesn’t stop flipping all over the place.

He's not the type to fall in love, as far as he's concerned, but then again, neither was his father. Yet, he found his mother and...

Well according to them, it 'clicked,' or something similar. Ushijima doesn't know if that could happen to him, but to even take the chance...

Maybe the consideration is something he should...well,  _consider_.

It would certainly make his parents happy if he tried, but he knows they'd never expect him to sacrifice his discomfort for something like that.

Sensing his confusion, his father reaches over and squeezes his other hand, smiling in the same soft way he did when Ushijima messed up a receive or a spike. "You don't have to if you don't want to son, remember that."

"We'll just visit a lot more if that's the case," his mother sighs, equally reassuring, and for whatever reason, Oikawa's face flashes in his mind.

He sees the plant nursery and hears the chimes, the wind kicking up those brown locks, intense stares locked behind thick glasses frames.

Ushijima feels the ache again, stronger and nagging, and exhales slowly. "I will think about it."

That's all he can promise.

His parents' faces light up with relief, and the topic eventually moves onto better things, but the weight of the conversation sits in his mind well into the night.

No matter what he eventually decides, he just knows he can't reach that decision until he talks to Oikawa.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! We'll see how Oikawa feels next time...
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/itsloveuasshole)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Comments are always appreciated <3 This is kind of my yolo fic of the year, so no set update schedule as of right now BUT I will finish it bc I have it all outlined and ready ^^ Thanks again!
> 
> I'm going to put this disclaimer here too because I've seen it a lot lately, but if you do not ship ushioi I REALLY DONT NEED TO KNOW. Please don't comment stuff like "I hate the ship but x" because it comes off as kind of rude and it really hurts the comment as a whole. Thank you! Sorry I even had to mention it but it's becoming an increasing problem orz 
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/itsloveuasshole)


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